


Of doublets and spoons

by frances_the_red



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bickering, Book Spoilers, M/M, No Beta, Prompt Fill, marriage bickering, the author apologizes in advance and regrets everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frances_the_red/pseuds/frances_the_red
Summary: Geralt had no idea how it came to this moment in his life.Okay, of course he knew. But it was still a bit mind boggling at times how someone as feared and hated like the Butcher of Blaviken became to be a king consort to the ruler of Nilfgaard.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Of doublets and spoons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [do_androids_dream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_androids_dream/gifts).



> A prompt fill for the lovely do_androids_dream. I was challenged to write 2500 words about marriage bickering. I tried my hand at Emhyr/Geralt which was a totally new thing for me. Not my usuall ship, so I am not sure if I got their dynamic right. They are both very headstrong and masculine and are missing the ‘opposites attract’ aspect I usually exploit. Anyway, have some Emralt. Gerhyr? What is the shipname there anyway?  
> Please be aware that a lot of mulled wine had been consumed while creating this ficlet.

  
Geralt had no idea how it came to this moment in his life.   
Okay, of course he knew. But it was still a bit mind boggling at times how someone as feared and hated like the Butcher of Blaviken became to be a king consort to the ruler of Nilfgaard.  
He had to thank Destiny, Dandelion and the Law of Surprise for that. Geralt wondered why he had been so averse to claiming his child surprise in the first place. Cirilla was one of the most precious things in his life by now. So when the moment came and Emhyr var Emreis turned out to be not dead but very much alive and ruling a kingdom, asking around for his daughter, Geralt had caved easily. He couldn’t deny Ciri what was left of her family.   
It had started out as more of a truce. The biological father and the surprise dad joining forces to raise a girl destined to be not only empress to Nilfgaard, but rightful queen of Cintra, heiress to Inis Ard and An Skellig, princess of Brugge, duchess of Sodden as well as Suzerain of Attre and Abb Yarra. While Emrys teached her politics and grace, Geralt teached Ciri everything about morals, standing up for herself and how to kill a man.  
Geralt and Emrys got close. It had started with mutual respect, turned into affection and a sexual relationship and had ended with love and a big ceremony.  
The Witcher still remembered his wedding day as if it was just yesterday. He had been glad to have his friend Dandelion by his side through all of it. The Viscount and occasional court bard had readied Geralt for his role as royal consort, teaching him about matters of court and which knife to use for the fish dish. He had been a confidant when Geralt had doubted himself through all of it. A supporting shoulder while Geralt had struggled to fit in his new role. On their wedding day Dandelion had gifted them the ballad of ‘The wolf and the White Flame’, tastefully describing their union of fate and circumstance in prose so flowery that even the most mistrusting attendees were convinced that Emhyrs and Geralts joining was a match made by Destiny. The grin of the bard was forever etched in his memory.   
His brothers - although they had thought him mad - were happy for him. Vesemir had shaken his head at it all, but spoke his blessing and gave him away in front of the priest like a proud father.   
Geralt was happy most of the time. Really, he was. But days like these he really reconsidered his life choices. 

“Arms up, milord”, demanded the tailor. Geralt did as asked, suffering through the ministrations, while subtly eying up his husband. The emperor stood in front of a big mirror, a manservant presenting him with different rings and ceremonial necklaces.   
“Is all this really necessary, Duny? It is just a small summit, not a yuletide banquet.”  
Emhyr glanced at him through the reflection, clearly unimpressed.   
“This is important, Geralt. We are right in the middle of another treaty with the temerians. I need you to look your best.”  
“My best would be my amour, two swords on my back. Not this. I look like a dance monkey.” Geralt tugged at the high and confining collar of his black and silver doublet, earning a put upon sigh from the tailor.  
“No weapons, we talked about this. You need to look imposing, not threatening.”  
“If you want me imposing I just wear the shirt from the last hunt.”  
Emhyr scrunched up his nose. “The bloedzuiger? That shirt was pure mud with the occasional blood splatter. Didn’t some acid even etch the sleeve away? Disgusting.”  
Geralt raised an eyebrow. “But imposing none the less.”  
“You wear that shirt one more time and I unleash my chamberlain on you for lessons on etiquette.”  
Now it was Geralts turn to make a face.   
“One more boring hour on how to extend a leg and bow the chin in the right angle and which hand goes where and I am throwing that nagger out a window.”  
“One more time wearing that mud shirt and I am divorcing you.” Emhyrs lips were pressed into a tight smile, his eyes sparkling dangerously.   
Geralt wanted to retort with a defiant counter when Ciri entered their chamber, dressed elegantly in a two piece ensemble of black high waisted trousers and a black and white blousin. It looked like something out of Yennefers garderobe, formfitting in the right places, some feminine frills while still looking dangerous. There was a dagger strapped to her left thigh.   
Emhyr took one look at her, then pressed out a frustrated “no.”  
“But-””No. Sweet Melitele, you are as stubborn as your dad. A dress. Now.”  
“I hate you”, she remarked like the rebellious teenager she barely was anymore, blew Emhyr a raspberry and turned around again, slamming the door in the process.  
“Very mature. Wonder where she has that from.”  
Geralt considered blowing a raspberry himself but refrained.  
“Let her wear what she wants for Meliteles sake. Her face was clean, as was her hair. What more do you want?”  
“A princess who looks the part. And speaking of hair, you are in need of a barber.”   
“Will you stop mothering me? I am older than you.”  
“Right, sometimes I forget. You may act like a five year old and look like thirty but you are just an old man inside, aren’t you?”  
“That’s because I keep myself fit, _your majesty_.”   
A low blow, Geralt knew. Not only had he mocked him about the little love handles Emhyr had gained over the last months, he had also addressed him with his title sarcastically, driving home the fact that he thought very little of the aristocracy. The wolf used the title mostly as an endearment, but sometimes he still resented the privilege that came with noblesse. Most of those stuck up dukes and ladies had never lifted a finger in their life, knowing nothing about hunger and sleeping on the cold forest ground.  
Okay, maybe Emhyr had a point when he insisted on the ‘no weapons’ rule when dealing with nobles. Still. At least a small pocket for a little dagger would be nice.  
He looked down at himself when the tailor finally was done with whatever he was doing. Even with three layers of cloth covering everything but his face and hands he felt utterly naked.  
“Just one little blade in the boot?”  
Emhyr pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.   
———  
Oh, how he wished Emhyr had headed his wish. But no, instead of a sword or dagger, he had to use a butter knife to defend his husband when the assassination attempt took place some hours later.  
The temerian ambassadors had looked as surprised as everyone else when one of their security details had quickly leaped over the table while screaming ‘For Temeria!’ in the middle of the proceedings, fully intent on murdering the Emperor. Geralt had reacted purely by instinct, leaping in front of his husband. Instead of Emhyrs heart, the blade pierced the Witchers shoulder. In a swift movement, Geralt had the attacker in a hold, a butter knife rammed into a thigh and a dessert spoon near his eye. Geralt would have preferred a bigger soup spoon for gauging a mans eye out but that one had long been cleared with the first course.  
Geralt wondered for a short crazy moment, if Dandelion could teach him about the right spoon for this kind of dismemberment next time he visited.   
The palace guards quickly took the matter into their own hands after that, escorting the rampaging man out of the hall in shackles. There had been a mad glint in the fanatics eyes. A small patch on his chemise revealed him as a former member of the Blue Stripes.  
“I’m so gonna have words with Vernon about this”, remarked Geralt weakly, while he slowly sank to the floor, one hand clutched over the bleeding hole in his shoulder, trying to put pressure on the stab wound to stop the blood flow. “You okay? Ciri…”, he pressed out when the face of his husband came into view.   
“Yes, yes, we are fine. Our daughter is already running like the wind to get your potions. Don’t speak. And don’t look so relieved about me and Cirilla being unharmed. You always look at me all soft and lovingly. It’s hard to be cross with you when you look at me like that, so stop it, you stupid self-sacrificing hero of a Witcher.”  
Geralt smiled one of his small half smiles while Emhyr gently ran his fingers through silver white hair in concern.  
Suddenly Ciri was in his line of view, rummaging through a bag. She made a relieved noise when she found what she was looking for, holding three different colored vials under Geralts nose.   
“No need. Just a sip of Swallow. This is just a paper cut.”  
“I am your emperor and ruler first and your husband second. Ciri is my second in command and if she thinks you need them, then you better drink them all or there will be repercussions for impertinence and insubordination. My chamberlain will have to teach you a thing or two about pudency still, I gather.”  
“Ass.” Geralt growled, but there was no heat to it.   
“Idiot,” reposted Emhyr var Emreis, tenacious but lovingly.  
Ciris face scrunched up like tasting something sour. “Urgh. Geralt is still bleeding all over the floor. Could you stop flirting for two fucking minutes?”  
“Language!” The two fathers scolded together as one.   
——

A few hours hours later, the ambassadors dealt with and the assassin behind lock and key, Geralt and Emhyr lay in their luxurious bed. The curtains were drawn around them, giving them some privacy from any menservants puttering around in the early morning hours.  
They curled around one another, Emhyrs face pressed between Geralts shoulder blades, an arm slung around his waist, their legs entangled. The Emperor kissed some of the scars in reverence, silently thanking the gods for blessing him with a husband like Geralt. Strong and self sacrificing. Courageous. Kind.  
“I have to apologize,” he murmured softly into Geralts ear. “I was frustrated today. Not with you but with the court and the matters of state. With myself. And I took that out on you because you were there and an easy target. The treaty between the empire and the northern kingdoms is still a fickle thing and if I show any kind of weakness they will exploit it. If they see you or Ciri in leather trousers and ripped shirts, looking like some kind of savage - which you are not - they will think that I can’t even get my husband and daughter under control. And how am I to lead a land as big as Nilfgaard if I can’t even get my spouse in check? We have to show them that we are a united front. I am sorry that you have to sacrifice so much in this relationship. It will get better, I promise.”  
When Geralt turned on his back, Emhyr kissed the fresh stab wound, which was already healing nicely, still red but already scabbed over. Dark eyes met gold.   
“I felt worse than a mangy dog after I killed my wife with that maelstrom, Geralt. I never want to loose someone dear to me again because of my hunger for power. I need you, my wolf. To anchor me. To set my head straight when I get lost in my obsession to take. So please, _please_ , never do something so stupid again. Don’t die for me. You are worth so much more than me.”  
They looked at each other for a while. Geralts eyes shone with something alike to disbelieve, shaking his head in a miniscule movement.  
They pressed closer into each other, touching their foreheads together and breathing each other in for a moment. Then the Wolf turned his head and kissed his White Flame, firm but gentle. Grounding. Reassuring.   
“I am sorry, too.” Geralts voice was mere but a low rumble. “I try my best to fit into this whole courtly setting. But it’s hard. There are so many subtle rules. It’s constricting. And the whole finery isn’t helping, either. I feel like an imposter. And while I appreciate that I am still allowed to take contracts in the vicinity and kill some drowners every other tuesday, I am still missing the Path sometimes. I didn’t have to worry about cutlery or the correct way to address nobility. But I am learning. Please be patient with me.”  
“Of course.” Emhyr pressed a kiss into the scar on his brow.   
Geralts hand found it’s way onto Dunys love handles. “And I apologize for the comment about your fitness. I like you like that. Gives me something to hold on to. With a mind and tongue as sharp as yours I like the reminder that you can be soft underneath.”  
Emhyr raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but let the matter go in favor of kissing his husband again. He was well aware that he wasn’t the fit Urcheon of Erlenwald anymore he was in the 1250s. But he also didn’t look like a hedgehog anymore either so that was a plus.   
“I am also sorry about ruining yet another courtly doublet.”  
Emhyr laughed at that. A low belly rumble. Geralt loved it when Emhyr laughed so freely, no kingly filters or stern posture. He only allowed himself to be like that around Geralt and Ciri.   
“We will get you a knew one. I’ll request for the tailor first thing in the morning.”  
Geralt grumbled at the prospect of yet another fitting where a man wearing too much perfume fondled his inseam.   
Emhyr pressed his lips on Geralts, kissing the annoyance into oblivion.   
“The doublet may have one subtle blade pocket on the inside”, conceded the Emperor.   
Geralt smirked, victorious.  
Emhyr resented that. He pressed his husband into the sheets and pounced.   
——————  
They did decidedly not live happily ever after, for in the world of the Northern Realms there existed nothing so cliché as a happy end. They still had their ups and downs. They still bickered and fought and insulted each other, because both were strongheaded and set in their opinions. But they also adored and respected each other, with all their faults and edges. That’s how marriages are, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? A comment in form of an emoticon would be much appreciated.


End file.
